


nightmares aren't always premonitions

by sunshineinthestorm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (obviously since Allison is alive), Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff, It's mostly fluff though, Lydia has a panic attack in case that's triggering for anyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:51:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineinthestorm/pseuds/sunshineinthestorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia has very good reasons to be afraid of flying. Thankfully, Allison is there when those reasons are too much for Lydia to handle on her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nightmares aren't always premonitions

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is one of the prizes for a contest i held on tumblr a few months ago. it's for the tumblr user [@selfignitingargent](http://selfignitingargent.tumblr.com), who is a lovely person that deserves all the prizes. :)

"So, Italy or France?"

Lydia doesn't bother looking up from her phone. "Italy. French desserts are too dangerous. If I ever went there, I'd gain, like, ten pounds. Why do you ask?"

Allison laughs softly, a whoosh of air that gets Lydia's attention. "Did you forget?"

"Forget what?"

"One-year anniversary? I just got an awesome scholarship for my college tuition next year so my dad's giving me a vacation fund? We agreed that Europe was pretty much the perfect place to go to spend it?"

Lydia's mouth goes dry, but she keeps her smile pasted on. "Oh. Right. Of course I remember that."

"Of course." Allison laughs again. "It's okay, I don't blame you for forgetting. I did ask you while you were in the middle of studying for a 'major' chemistry test that you ended up acing, if I remember correctly."

Lydia huffs, checking her phone again like she's actually upset. "Well, that's what you get for bothering me while I'm _studying_ ," she says primly. "I definitely do _not_ remember having that conversation, but I'm sure I did ace that chemistry test. I aced all of them."

"Yes, I remember. So, now that you know what I'm talking about, Italy or France?"

Lydia bites her lip, crushes the fabric of her dress in her hands, and says, "If we're actually going, then France. You speak the language."

Allison raises her eyebrows. "You speak Latin."

Lydia parts her lips, squints her eyes, and tilts her head, striving for normalcy. "Archaic Latin," she corrects her. "Not the same as Italian."

"Yeah, but you could probably learn Italian in approximately three weeks if you wanted to."

Lydia inhales and tilts her head to the other side, considering Allison's statement, before saying, "True. But I don't want to. Listening to you speak French is much hotter."

Allison leans down, her hair falling in a curtain on either side of their faces. " _Mais il y aura les desserts français_ ," she whispers.

"If you really love me, you won't mind if I gain ten pounds," Lydia responds just as breathlessly, and then she closes the gap between them with a kiss.

After a few minutes of making out, Lydia actually convinces herself that she can do this for Allison. She can go to Europe. She can get in a plane — into more than one plane, taking connecting flights into account — and fly to Europe.

For Allison.

* * *

Lydia wakes up at two in the morning and calls Allison without thinking, chest still heaving from the panic clogging her throat.

"Lydia? What's going on?"

Her throat's still a little closed, making it hard to get the words out. "I don't think we can go to France."

She can hear rustling over the phone, like Allison's sitting up in bed and fluffing the pillow to make herself more comfortable. It makes Lydia's breath catch in her throat for entirely different reasons. When she called Allison, there'd been no question in her mind that Allison would pick up and stay on the phone as long as Lydia needed her, but — well, that was the whole problem, really. Allison was willing to do too much for Lydia. Surely Lydia could do this for her too.

"Why not, Lydia?" Allison asks, her voice all concern and no anger. "Is something wrong?"

Lydia shifts far enough away from the phone that she can take deep breaths to calm her anxiety without Allison hearing them. Then she presses the phone against her ear again and says, "Um, of course something's wrong. How am I supposed to go to Europe with my current wardrobe? They're constantly exceeding the pinnacle of fashion over there, Allison."

Allison laughs, airy and amused. "You woke me up just for that? I've seen most of your wardrobe, Lydia. You have nothing to worry about."

Lydia laughs in response, hoping it doesn't sound too strained. "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to hear you say it. Sorry for waking you up."

"It's fine, Lydia. If I wasn't willing to get woken up at two a.m. with fashion emergencies, I wouldn't have started dating you."

Then Allison hangs up with the echo of her laugh still ringing in Lydia's ears.

Yeah, Lydia can do this. No problem. Everything's fine.

* * *

Over the next month, Lydia does her best to prepare herself for the plane ride. She reads several lengthy scholarly articles about how safe airplanes have gotten and studies a book that explains every airplane's various safety features in extensive detail. She gets Scott to teach her some deep breathing techniques that he discovered back when he was still trying to figure out how to control his transformations, and she practices them three times a day to make sure that they're still effective. She spends plenty of time with Allison to remind herself why she's going to all this trouble, why she's willing to face this fear, and why it's worth every nightmare.

She buys a floral notebook, as pretty as all the other ones she owns, and writes comforting statistics in it every night. _Only 1 in 1.2 million flights ends in a crash. 95.7% of passengers in a plane crash survive. The odds of dying in a plane crash are only 1 in 11 million. Meanwhile, the odds of dying in a car accident are as high as 1 in 5,000. Allison is over eleven times more likely to be struck by lightning within the next year than she is to die in a plane crash._ She fills up fifty pages of her notebook with information and statistics and pretends that it helps.

And when things get really bad, she buys herself something expensive and tells herself that she isn't allowed to wear it until she's in Europe.

Yeah, Lydia can _definitely_ do this. No problem. Everything's fine. Everything's _excellent_. After all, by this time tomorrow, she'll be in _France._

(Or she'll be dead.)

* * *

"You're being quieter than usual," Allison observes as they pull into the airport parking lot. "I thought you'd be more excited. It's _Europe_ , Lydia. You're going to _Europe_ for the first time! And I get to be there to watch you get fat on French desserts. I know _I_ can't wait."

Lydia manages to smile. "I'm just worried I forgot something," she lies. "Did I bring the adapter cord?"

"Of course you did," Allison laughs. "You've been making your packing list for the last month, and you checked every item off as you put it in your suitcase. You didn't forget anything."

She pushes down an uneven cuticle and tries to look unconcerned. "I know. It's just early. You know, teenagers' natural circadian rhythms are conducive to going to sleep at 11 p.m. and waking up approximately 9.25 hours later. You kept me up unreasonably late last night—"

Allison grins. "Funny, I don't remember you complaining."

Lydia keeps her face purposefully neutral. "And now it's unreasonably early, so my circadian rhythms have been disrupted. That could make me more forgetful than usual."

"Yes, but you finished packing three days ago."

"Well, you disrupted my natural circadian rhythms three days ago too," Lydia says primly, and then she gets out of the car and pulls out her large suitcase before Allison can say anything else.

For the next two hours, everything is fine. Everything is great, actually. Check-in is straightforward and neither of their bags are overweight (Lydia had checked and rechecked them three times at home to make sure), they don't have to get patted down by security, their gate is easy to find, and the coffee Lydia buys from an airport sandwich shop isn't nearly as bad as she expected it to be. As she settles in next to Allison with last month's chemistry academic journal to wait for boarding call, Lydia's stress fades into the background. Her anxiety seems distant and ridiculous. The feelings lasts all the way through boarding, flight attendant lectures, and taxiing the plane.

Then, approximately twenty-five minutes after the plane's back wheels leave the ground, the cabin starts shuddering, and the fasten-seatbelt sign comes back on just three minutes after shutting off.

"Wow, I haven't experienced turbulence this bad in years," Allison observes matter-of-factly, her voice light and airy and entirely unconcerned. "I didn't think wind speeds were going to be this high today. It's almost as if — Lydia? _Lydia, are you all right_?"

Lydia is not all right.

Allison's words fade in and out of her hearing as she grips the armrests on either side of her chair and hunches over, letting her hair hide her face from view while she gasps for air. _I haven't experienced turbulence this bad in years_ , Allison had said, and Lydia believes her because there's no way that this is normal turbulence.

 _Only 1 in 1.2 million flights ends in a crash,_ she reminds herself, but the statistic doesn't help the way that numbers usually do. Only 1 in 1.2 million flights ends in a crash, sure, but 1.2 million flights aren't carrying a hunter and a banshee from Beacon Hills. 1.2 million flights haven't been giving that banshee nightmares for the last month, and 1.2 million flights don't cross airspace that belongs to the nemeton. 1.2 million flights—

" _Lydia._ " Allison's hand is a solid warmth against Lydia's back, warm and reassuring and insistent. "Lydia, breathe with me. You're okay. We're fine. We're safe."

Lydia tries her best to take a deep breath, but it gets caught somewhere between her nose and her lungs, and she ends up coughing instead. In a way, the coughing is a good thing, because it allows her to blame her tears on the ache in her throat instead of the flight statistics crashing and burning in her brain. " _Allison_ ," she says, her voice strained, and then forgets how to say anything else.

"Shhh, Lydia, _breathe_ ," Allison says. Her hand starts rubbing circles on Lydia's back, while the other prods at Lydia's right hand until she relinquishes her grip on the armrest and latches onto Allison instead. "What's going on? What's wrong? What can I do?"

The television screen on the seat in front of Lydia is starting to look blurry around the edges. She can't read the writing on the back of her tray table, even though she knows that it says, _Life vest is stored under the seat. Seat cushion may be used as a flotation device._ Useless information, since they're not going to be flying above water until their second plane, and they're not even going to make it to that flight because this one is already crashing, and they aren't going to have any use for life vests and seat cushions because they'll be dead on impact.

"Lydia, please tell me what's going on."

Somehow, Lydia finds enough strength in Allison's fingers to take a deep breath and gasp out something about turbulence and crashing.

To her surprise, Allison just tightens her grip on Lydia's hand and says, "Lydia, look at me."

It takes more effort than Lydia thought she could manage, but she does. Allison's eyes are gentle and strong and not at all concerned. "Lydia, the plane evened out three minutes ago. The turbulence is over."

"But…" Lydia turns and examines her left hand in surprise. The armrest isn't shaking anymore. She just hadn't noticed because her hand had been doing plenty of shaking on its own. "Oh."

Suddenly, Lydia can breathe.

It only takes about five seconds for her relief to turn into embarrassment, and Lydia yanks her hand out of Allison's and scrubs away the tear tracks on her face. Allison lets her go, but she keeps her other hand firmly planted on Lydia's back. For a minute, the only sound Lydia can hear over her popping eardrums is her own ragged breathing. She anchors onto that sound and Allison's steadying hand and lets them drag her back into reality, a reality where experiencing turbulence doesn't mean that a plane is going to crash and being from Beacon Hills doesn't necessarily condemn someone to an early death. It's a reality that Lydia hadn't thought she was a part of, until now.

Allison lets her have her careful almost-silence for longer than Lydia thinks she deserves, and then she tilts Lydia's chin to the right so she's forced to look her in the eye when she asks, "Why didn't you tell me you were afraid of flying?"

Lydia thinks of a floral journal filled with pages discussing the likelihood of death and deep breathing exercises that she'd completely forgotten to utilize — so much for her genius IQ — and sighs. "I'm not afraid of flying."

Allison raises her eyebrows, unimpressed.

"I'm not!" Lydia insists. "I've been on planes before, and they never bothered me. When I was twelve, I used to think that after I got my Fields Medal, I'd get my pilot's license and take up flying as a hobby."

The corner of Allison's mouth twitches. "A hobby?"

"Well, between my research and my three-book publishing deal, I wouldn't exactly have time to pursue it as a career, would I?"

Allison laughs, and Lydia smiles, but both of them quickly remember gasping breaths and shaking planes and stop finding it amusing. "So what changed?"

Lydia shrugs, carefully casual. "I learned about the supernatural."

She wants to believe that it'll be enough to satisfy Allison's curiosity, but one look at her girlfriend's face reminds Lydia that she should know better. "You know that it almost drove me crazy, finding out that there was a whole universe out there that I knew nothing about, and that _I_ was somehow a part of it," she explains. "The summer after our sophomore year, I got Stiles to show me everything he'd researched and discovered, and after he'd told me everything he knew, I started my own research because his notes were a jumbled, disorganized mess, which I'm sure does not surprise you at all." Allison nods, an expression of something like fondness crossing her face. Everything about Stiles was a jumbled, disorganized mess, but he was still one of their best friends.

"Well," Lydia says slowly, "I may have researched too much. I came up with an exhaustive encyclopedia of supernatural creatures, almost as large as the bestiary itself but with more modern sources of information. The problem is, I had no way to know how many of those creatures were real and how many actually existed as nothing more than myth. After we met Kira and Malia, I decided that it was better to assume that they were all real than to think that we were safe from a single one."

"Okay," Allison says. "Understandable. But what does this have to do with flying?"

Lydia sighs. "Do you have any idea how many mythological creatures can fly? And how many of those creatures can be tied back to the nemeton?"

Finally, Allison's eyes widen with comprehension. "You thought we were being targeted."

Lydia touches her fingers to Allison's wrist. "Of course I thought we were being targeted. When are we ever _not_ being targeted?"

Allison lets out a shuddering breath and shifts her hand from Lydia's back to her waist, tugging her closer. "Why wouldn't you tell me any of this?"

"Because it was irrational and unfounded," Lydia says matter-of-factly. "I had no reason to believe that any of those flying mythological creatures were real, let alone that they were in Beacon Hills and flying above the nemeton and harboring any animosity towards us. I wasn't going to cancel the vacation you were so excited about on a hunch."

 _And if I was having nightmares and hearing voices that told me that it was a bad idea,_ she added to herself, _I ignored them. After all, nightmares aren't always premonitions, and voices don't always have our best interests at heart._

"Lydia, nothing about you is irrational and unfounded." Allison frowns. "You should have told me you were worried."

She presses her lips together and looks away from the concern in Allison's eyes. "I know I should have told you," she says. "If it was irrational and unfounded, then there was no reason to hide it from you, and if there was actually anything to worry about, then we shouldn't have gotten on this plane in the first place. But . . . you were so excited that I didn't want to disappoint you. I figured that I was just paranoid because we hadn't been attacked in so long, and I would be fine once we were actually on the plane." She lets out a shaky laugh. "I was right about half of that, at least."

"Lydia . . ."

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "I just — you said you hadn't experienced turbulence this bad in years, and I guess I panicked."

Allison winces. "Oh, Lydia, _I'm_ sorry. If I had known, I wouldn't have said anything. Sure, it's been a while since I felt turbulence that strong, but I _have_ felt it before. I knew it was nothing to worry about. You didn't have to . . . I'm sorry." Her finger traces a path along Lydia's knuckles. "If you want, we can get a flight back to Beacon Hills as soon as we land. We don't have to go to France. We could celebrate our anniversary just as well on a roadtrip."

Lydia takes another deep breath, letting the feeling of Allison's touch on her hand ground her, and scoffs. "Too late, Allison. It's the flying over Beacon Hills that had me worried in the first place. You really think I _want_ to go back right away? No, we are _absolutely_ taking our flight to France."

Allison grins. "Oh, is that right? _Absolutely_?"

"Absolutely," Lydia repeats, leaning up to give her girlfriend a quick kiss. "But, you know, if you _are_ still worried, I know something you can do for me to make me feel better."

Allison tilts her head, equal parts teasing and curious, and Lydia knows she's won. "And what would that be?"

In response, Lydia lifts up the armrest between them and unbuckles her seatbelt before tucking her feet next to her thighs and leaning her head against Allison's shoulder. As she refastens her seatbelt to accommodate her new position, she takes a moment to be silently grateful that she has a window seat and can prop her shins against the wall instead of an annoyed stranger. Then she snuggles closer to Allison and says, "Share your headphones with me."

Allison laughs and agrees.

The next time they encounter turbulence, Lydia is too engrossed in watching _Zootopia_ to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation for the French Allison uses in this fic ( _Mais il y aura les dessert français._ ): "But there will be French desserts."
> 
> (Lydia claims that only Allison can speak French, but she may or may not have studied it by herself a little bit when she was bored.)
> 
> I hope you liked the fic! Feel free to find me on tumblr: [@stilestilikeslydia](http://stilestilikeslydia.tumblr.com)


End file.
